Day 34 - Elva Lena, Beauty Rejuvenator

Aerial Image of  San Francisco
by FunGI_, via Flickr

In January 1973, I had to find a place to live in San Francisco before classes began at San Francisco State University. I checked out a bulletin board on the campus and pulled a tab with a phone number from a flyer advertising a studio apartment within walking distance of the campus. After calling to make an appointment, I drove to the address, at the intersection of 19th Avenue and Randolph where I found an impressive white house on the corner, with red lettering on the side of the building, spelling out "Elva Lena." The door was opened by a woman who introduced herself as Betty, a friend of the family.

After inviting me through the foyer into the living room, Betty explained that she had been living with the family for the past two years, ever since Elva Lena's death. Elva Lena Pickerell was the wife of the owner of the house, Mr. H.V. Pickerell. Betty had come to stay with Mr. Pickerell and his adult daughter because Mr. Pickerell couldn't take care of himself and the house on his own. She told me that Mr. Pickerell was 89 years old. She also explained that they were still getting over Elva Lena's death so they didn't have regular meals. They just had small snacks during the day, cat snacks she called them.

At that point Mr. Pickerell joined us and I noticed that he had only one arm, a further explanation for Betty's continued presence. We discussed the furnished studio apartment available with a separate entrance at the garden side of the house. The apartment had a separate kitchen, bathroom and a walk-in closet that was so large the previous tenant had used it as her bedroom, maintaining the large room as a living room. That tenant, a teacher at the University, had recently moved into the one-bedroom apartment right next to the studio when it became available.

The rent was reasonable, the apartment was just a six-block walk from the University, so I was already sold on the place when another woman entered the room. Betty introduced the woman as Mr. Pickerell's daughter who had a 42-year-old son who was 6'2" tall and weighed 230 pounds and lived in Florida with his wife and three children. I thought it was a rather unusual introduction with so many details provided about someone I would likely never meet, but Betty's manner indicated the introduction was perfectly normal. I learned later why it was normal in that household.

Image you have probably seen many times before that
looks a lot like the ones in Elva Lena's foyer

When Betty agreed to show me the apartment, we went through the entrance foyer where Betty pointed out the photos on the wall, the before and after photos of Elva Lena's clients. Elva Lena had been a beauty rejuvenator, with many famous women among her clients. The way she said it indicated I was supposed to understand what that meant, so I asked no questions.

The apartment was as Betty explained, a large enough room with walk-in closet more than sufficient for my four pairs of pants, dozen shirts, two jackets, two pairs of boots, hiking boots and four sweaters. I probably had a dress or two as well, but I rarely had a reason to wear one. The single bed had bolsters on the long side so it could serve as a sofa as well. There was a table to serve as a desk, four chairs and another table that would serve as my TV stand. The kitchen had all the dishes, pots and pans, and tableware I would need, and the bathroom had both a tub and a shower. I signed the lease and made out a check to H.V. Pickerell. I moved my suitcase into the apartment and then drove to Berkeley to the church where I had worked for the previous three years to pick up the few things I owned I had stored there for the period between moving out of my apartment in Berkeley and my return to California a month later.

In the next few days, Betty told me that I might see Mr. Pickerell's daughter in the yard now and then. If so, I wasn't to pay her any attention. She was a little confused since the death of her mother and she seemed to think that her son was still living with her and that he was about six years old. I never did see the daughter in the yard, but she knocked once on the door at the back of my apartment, the door that connected the apartment to the main house, and she asked if I had seen a little boy recently. I told her I hadn't and she just went away.

San Francisco State University image by prayitno,
via Flickr

About two months later, Betty stopped me as I was returning from classes and asked if I would be willing to take a photo of her with her cat. She had just gotten a Polaroid camera and she wanted her first photos to be of her cat. I agreed and waited in the yard while Betty went to get her cat. At first, I thought she had brought the cat out bundled up in a quilt, but as Betty got closer, I saw things differently. Betty explained that her cat had a skin condition that required he be completely covered so that he wouldn't scratch himself. What I thought was a quilt was in fact a cat version of a quilted jumpsuit. The only parts of the cat that weren't covered with the quilted suit were his tail, ears, and face. I took the photo which pleased Betty greatly. I didn't think to ask if the cat's skin condition was temporary. I assumed since she wanted a photo that day, waiting a few days or weeks wouldn't change the cat's appearance.

A few years later, when I was filling out one of the many forms I have had to complete for security clearances with the Department of State, I couldn't remember the address of the apartment. By then I also learned that the corner of 19th Avenue and Randolph wasn't specific enough. There are two places where 19th Avenue cross Randolph. I went to the library in Minneapolis and pulled a several-years-old San Francisco telephone book off the shelf to see if I could find the address by looking up Mr. Pickerell's name. Instead of his name, I found Elva Lena's name. Since Mr. Pickerell would be well into his 90s by that time, I was curious how many years later the listing would still be there. I picked up San Francisco white pages for successive years and found Elva Lena's name still there even 10 years later.

Though I never met Elva Lena,  she has been one of my most memorable characters ever since that January afternoon in 1973.

Day 29 - American Language Institute (ALI)

Greece image by archer10 (Dennis), via Flickr

A Greek, a Libyan and a Tahitian walked into a bar in San Francisco. That might sound like the opening of a joke, but it is a description of the activities of a trio of students at the American Language Institute where I taught English while in graduate school. I don't remember their names, so I'll call them Alex, Mohammed, and Oscar.

The three of them were in the same class at ALI, so they has no choice about spending at least six hours a day together. But they liked one another and chose to spend much of the rest of their time together, too.

ALI is an English language prepartory program for university-bound international students. Students were put into classes based on their scores on the Test of English as a Foreign Language (TOEFL). The classes stayed together for just one term of about 12 weeks. At the end of the term, they retook TOEFL to determine whether their progress was sufficient to enter their chosen university or more preparation was needed. The pressure to get through in one term was tremendous, ALI's standards were high, and discipline was strict. Many of the students had never been without an externally imposed structure such as from family or government. The contrast offered by the freedom and lack of social constraints in San Francisco in the early 1970's was extreme. And since all of our students were expected to go on to universities all across the country where foreign student advisors may or may not be available to help with their transition, our director, affectionately known as Mrs. B, set up rules to help with the transition. For example, she insisted that students attend every class; no more than two absences were permitted in a term. Students were assigned advisors from among the four permanent staff members. They were required to write at least a page in English every day in a diary which they turned in every Friday and received back, with comments and corrections, on Mondays. Students were not allowed to leave town without permission. Students who ignored these rules were removed from the school and encouraged to find other English programs. And we all knew ALI was the best.

Libya image by sludgegulper, via Flickr

One of the reasons ALI students were successful was that no class had more than three students in it who spoke the same language. That meant English was the only common language. Other programs put all the Spanish speakers together or all the Japanese students together, robbing the students of a powerful incentive to use English - necessity. So it wasn't unusual at ALI to find three such different young men in one another's company.

Another of Mrs. B's rules was that the students were not allowed to socialize with the teachers. In addition to the four permanent staff members, there were about two dozen graduate students like me who taught at ALI.  Many of us were about the same age as the students, so without the prohibition on socializing, it is likely that we would have mixed outside of class. But ALI rules applied to teachers, too.

One of the advisors, Al, had great hopes for Mohammed, the Libyan, precisely because he wasn't spending his time with the other Libyan students. Al had watched group after group of Libyan students arrive without the proper motivation or discipline. Most recently, three Libyan students had decided to spend the Thanksgiving break in St. Louis. One of them had a friend at school there, so they told Al they planned to drive to St. Louis, leaving Wednesday before Thankgiving and returning the Sunday after. Al pointed out that they would not have any time to spend in St. Louis as it would take all their time to drive there and back. He strongly recommended they not make the trip. They didn't listen. They drove to St. Louis and were late getting back. And they were then dropped from the student roster. So Mohammed's friendship with Alex and Oscar was a good sign.

That summer was tough on Alex, the Greek. It was the year of the end of the Greek military junta that had been in power since 1967. While most of us assumed that the military rule coming to an end in July was a good thing, it is difficult for anyone with ties to a land on the other side of the earth to know that all is well with family and friends when the news deals with such changes. In addition, many of the students at ALI were on scholarships from their governments which meant that changes to the government were not always welcome.

Oscar brought with him a number of items that tourists were likely to pick up when traveling to Tahiti. Among them were a number of necklaces made from shells. Joseph from Nigeria, another student that summer, also brought beaded necklaces which he showed both students and teachers. But when the teachers asked him whether he would sell them, Joseph wouldn't - or couldn't - answer. Joseph's English was excellent, so long as he was reading something written on the board or in a book or he was writing, but his listening comprehension was very weak and his speech was so heavily accented that none of us, neither students nor teachers, understood much of what he said.

Tahiti image by Mitch Allen, via Flickr

Each term ended with a party at which time the students received the results of their most recent TOEFL. Those who scored above 500 were on their way to the university. Those who scored below that level would have to complete another term, if finances and other resources permitted, or make alternative educational arrangements.

At the party that summer, all three members of the trio scored high enough to go on. Because they had all succeeded, they knew they would no longer be our students. The prohibition on socializing was over.

At the end of that party, Oscar gave me one of the shell necklaces from Tahiti. And Mohammed had managed to strike a bargain with Joseph for one of the beaded necklaces which he gave me. I was flattered, and just a tiny bit worried what my colleagues would think, so I wore the necklaces in the weeks to come, to be sure they knew I didn't have anything to hide. The three of them, Alex, Mohammed, and Oscar, went separate ways. A few months later, I also left San Francisco, never to return.